


heartburn

by custardized



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff, Lowercase, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, angst if you want it to be HAHA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26247655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/custardized/pseuds/custardized
Summary: you’ve known hansol since you were kids. this means you SHOULD be able to read him like an open book, but you’re eithera) dumb as fuck; orb) stubborn as hell.
Relationships: Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	heartburn

**Author's Note:**

> you're hansol's older childhood friend. yup. that's pretty much it.

parties aren’t your thing and in that vein most people would think that they aren’t hansol’s thing, if only because since he’d entered university he’d spend his free time practically attached to you by the hip. he’s a sophomore now, more settled down (he’s part of a music circle and has been making waves—sometimes you wonder if he actually goes to class), and you find that it’s a little harder to spend time with him.

it’s not a bad thing. you have your boards to study for. you’re in your fifth and final year, and you’ve spent so much time holed up in your room or the library that you feel like you’ve turned two foundation shades lighter.

“but you still look more like a vampire than i do,” you tell hansol over a rare lunch together. “why’d you dye your hair black? is this part of your rapper persona? i don’t know what those are called.”

if this were anyone else, they probably would have rolled their eyes at you. but this is hansol, so he laughs. “change of pace, y’know?”

“i like your natural hair color better,” you say. “reminds me of chocolate.”

“noted,” he says, lips pursed playfully in thought. “if left unsupervised, you may be overcome by the desire to eat my hair.”

“okay,” you make a face. “i’m not that gross.”

hansol beams at you, all teeth and gums. 

“what about that time—“

“—any more. i’m not that gross any more.” you puff your cheeks up and inhale deeply through your nose. “also, what happened to your hand? i don’t see you for three days then all of a sudden there’s a bandage on your hand.”

“i tried to cook,” he says sheepishly, taking look at the part of his hand that’s been covered with gauze. “it didn’t end well.”

“you DON’T cook,” you groan, sitting back in your chair, pushing your empty plate forward. hansol doesn’t cook, or clean, or whatever. you know this because you’ve known him since he was born. “is it a burn? will you be okay?”

“yeah. to both. s’cool,” he shrugs. “should be okay in like, a week or two.”

“does your mom know?”

he sighs. “yeah.”

“okay,” you nod, “rhinitis isn’t bothering you?”

“no,” he furrows his eyebrows. “is this a medical interview?”

“i worry about you,” you continue. “do you at least use moisturiser now?”

“hey.”

“alright,” you say, hands raised in resignation. “i’ll back off.”

“are you okay?” hansol asks, eyes soft. “are you nervous about something?”

of course he knows when you’re nervous about something. you should have stopped talking after asking about the burn where his birthmark is. (you’d be really sad if the birthmark disappeared or something. it’s really cute.)

“there’s this… party.”

“oh no.” his gasp is exaggerated, but genuine. he knows you’re bad with these things.

“yeah, oh no. totally oh no. it’s an org thing and i can’t weasel my way outta it ‘cuz i’m an officer.” 

“tough.” 

“and like, we have to invite people. like recruiting people? i didn’t recruit you in your freshman year because i didn’t wanna pressure you or anything, but like… oh man, just thinking about this thing makes me tired.”

“you’re not even organizing it, right?” 

“no way. i’d probably die in the process.”

“yeah. if you’re this stressed about it now, you’d probably die working on it.”

“thanks.”

“but yeah, ‘course i’ll go. no problem.”

“you might not know anyone though…”

“s’fine. i’m going for you.”

and that’s why you pay for his lunch.

* * *

hansol picks you up from your house before the party, because you both know you get nervous. you don’t think you’ve ever seen hansol nervous. despite being a full three years younger than you he’s always cool and calm and collected, though he’s not without flaws. (tonight he tells you that he remembered to use that nice, heavy-duty moisturizer you got him. your chest swells with pride.)

you drive to the venue. you feel like you’re gonna sweat your makeup off. your eyeliner and mascara aren’t waterproof. while your heart’s hammering your childhood friend’s blasting doja cat or whoever at the top volume and the bass has you shaking in your seat. literally. hansol turns the music down when you glare at him.

“will you be okay?” you ask him when you’re both at the venue’s doorstep, and you can feel your nerves on end. you grasp his hand firmly in yours as you speak. “i don’t know how long i can hang with you. will you be fine?”  
his face is close. hansol’s always been cute, and you’ve had the privilege of watching him go from round cheeks to chiseled jawline. his long eyelashes cast shadows against his cheeks as he peers down at you, and he presses his lips together in that way he does when he’s affirming something. 

“yeah. i’ll be okay.”

you can almost feel his eyelashes fluttering against your skin with how close he is. your palms are clammy and you’re not sure if the pounding you feel is from the party’s bass or your own heart.

“shall we?”

hansol smiles and opens the door. 

your friends and fellow officers usher to greet you immediately, whisking you away as you hear someone faintly calling out, “vernon!” (that’s hansol’s rap persona. or whatever.) you look back at him briefly and he shoots you another smile and a nod, so you just gulp and let yourself be carried away.

“you came,” your friend says. “peer pressure worked!”

“peer pressure worked,” you exhale, sinking into the couch. you have a cup of beer in your hand and the smell is unpleasant. you’ll probably give it to hansol when you get ahold of him. “and i only just got here but now i’m tired.”

“what a grandma,” your other friend laughs from beside you. “i can’t believe you and vernon are childhood friends. he’s so cool and you’re so… you.”

“wow,” you drawl. “thanks.”

“not a bad thing!” she waves her hands in self-defense. “but you hate these things so much and he’s just… he just goes with the flow, y’know?”

your first friend snorts. “she’s just telling you she thinks he’s hot in like, a really roundabout way.”

you make a face. hansol? hot? maybe, but you’ve changed his diapers (you haven’t—yoon jeonghan’s fought you for saying this once, saying you had neither the cognitive ability nor motor skills to be changing nappies at the wee age of three) and taken care of him and his little sister. he’s practically your pet puppy. “maybe tell him that? not me?”

“but he’s yours,” your second friend says. “look at him.”

she points her lips behind you and you turn, making eye contact with hansol, who has his own glass in his hands. so much for giving him your alcohol. hansol smiles.

“yeah, that’s han.”

“and he’s cute. and hot.”

“please, i’m gonna be sick.”

“you have to admit he’s good looking,” your first friend lets out a low whistle. “objectively speaking.”

“of course he is,” you roll your eyes. “i raised him myself.”

“you’re not his mother,” they in different tones, but in unison.

you turn around again to check on how he’s doing. he gives you another smile.

“i’m not his mom, but i’m the closest thing to an older sister he has.”

“listen. little brothers don’t pick their older sisters up from class. they don’t buy them lunch because they’ve lost track of time because they were studying. are you blind? no offence.”

you turn around to look at hansol. his features are clear even from the view of your smudged spectacles. he’s smiling at you again.

“i can see fine. with glasses on.”

they groan.

“look,” you say slowly. “we’ve had this conversation tons of times. hansol is—he’s young, y’know. there are a ton of cute girls his age out there. i’m kind of like… a chubby dumpling. a little babushka.”

“you are a grandmother,” your second friend complains. “literally, do you know how many people would kill to be you?”

“no,” you chirp. “’cuz i’m not dead yet. no one’s made an attempt on my life yet either.”

“VERNON,” your first friend finally calls out.

you laugh. 

“bring her home, will you?” she groans once the younger boy is over. “she’s been here all of twenty minutes and we’re sick of her already.”

“wow, rude!”

“i’ll take her,” hansol laughs, but it’s not demeaning or rude or offensive or whatever. “you know i love spending time with you, right?”

you know the looks your friends are shooting you. you ignore them. this is hansol, for crying out loud. hansol who knows you’ve been a serial nail-biter since forever and couldn’t care less about the state of your cuticles. hansol who’s seen you in your old overused gym uniform from high school when you use it as pyjamas. hansol who’s seen you through puberty and every single moment you’ve felt ugly. hansol who’s been looking at you the same way since you were kids. 

oh.

hansol who’s been looking at you the same way since you were kids.

“oh.”

“oh?” he mirrors you.

“it’s—it’s nothing,” you say. “it’s… yeah. let’s… let’s get some fresh air, han.”

(on the way out to the poolside, you manage to catch a glimpse of his wound. he’s tattooed your name into the middle of his birthmark. you pretend not to see this, and ignore the sensation of his arm as it wraps around your shoulders.)

**Author's Note:**

> first chapter (? idk) of a social media au i completed a few months ago! i initially wrote this as a standalone thing, but expanded it into an entire... thing after much prodding from some pals lol.
> 
> if ever you're interested, it's over [here](https://twitter.com/custardization/status/1255455691336278020) on my twitter! ^o^


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